


Cacoethes

by milkysterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dubious Consent, Feral Derek, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medically Induced Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Rehabilitation, Sex Used as Medical Procedure, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9973667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek
Summary: The guy's name is Derek Hale, he's twenty-seven and was found by his pack two days ago, bloodied and out of his mind. They reported him missing three months previous when he had vanished from their pack house in the middle of the night seemingly without a trace. According to his file, his injuries were pretty severe but thanks to him being an alpha, he healed relatively quickly once proper medication was administered. He's currently unresponsive to his betas and all other attempted treatments have been unsuccessful.Enter Stiles and his magical man milk.ORThe one where Stiles volunteers at a hospital for feral werewolves and things get out of hand real quick.





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a warning for dubcon because of the nature of this fic. Sex with omegas is used to snap Alphas out of feral states and obviously, they can't consent when they're like that. However, it's not considered sexual assault or addressed in this universe because it's like a life-saving medical treatment. So if that's something that you don't wanna read - don't read. 
> 
> However, if you do wanna read I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> EDIT: I didn't have access to this fic for a few months after I posted it and I lost all my planning notes hence why it hasn't been updated since I first posted it. I've finally replanned it and it has two more chapters than it was supposed to originally have and the ending is a hell of a lot different than I had first intended. This fic hasn't been abandoned ;)
> 
>  **cacoethes**  
>  _noun_  
>  an urge to do something inadvisable.

"Are you sure about this?" 

Stiles isn't going to answer this time. For fucks sake, he's told Scott the same thing every time he's asked for over a year now. _Yes, he's sure._ Apparently, that isn't quite good enough for his oldest friend.

Okay, look, Stiles gets it. He understands that this is kind of unorthodox. The crowds of... _c_ _onservative_ humans that are holding up signs and chanting just outside of the clear glass sliding doors make it a little hard not to understand the social ramifications of what he's about to commit to. From his spot leaning up against the reception desk, Stiles can clearly read one sign that has 'RUINED OMEGAS BURN IN HELL' scrawled across it in blood red paint. Because that isn't overboard _at all_. But, hey, this is the world he lives in; an omega's virginity is sacred and to have sex or perform sexual acts outside of a mating bond is - well, riot worthy apparently. 

This isn't Stiles' first time at the clinic. He's been taking hormones for months to help him produce breast milk and has been donating it to the alphas here. It's not much, but sometimes all it takes to get them back to functioning like normal werewolves is a taste of omega milk. Stiles would be lying if he said it didn't feel good - in more ways than one - to help these poor people out. 

That's as far as he's gone, though - coming in a couple of times a month to feed whatever alpha is currently in need. It's casual and sporadic; he never feeds the same alpha twice to prevent the two of them from becoming attached. But this time - _today_  - he's changing his routine. 

"Well, I think what you're doing is really brave." Melissa, Scott's mother, is sorting out the last of Stiles' consent forms behind the front desk. She's a beta and a nurse here and has been the one injecting Stiles with his hormones throughout his entire time at the clinic. She's probably the only persons in Stiles' life who supports his decision. His dad is livid - Stiles gets that it's because he's scared of the backlash that might hurt Stiles, but still - and Scott is about as helpful as a wet sock. 

Scott is newly mated and his omega - Allison - popped out two cubs just last month. While Stiles is thrilled for his best friend, the fact that Scott now sees himself as some kind of love guru and has evidently made it his life ambition to get Stiles settled down and mated and producing little baby Stilinskis is a tad disheartening. It's not that he doesn't want children at some point, it's that he'd like to make that decision on his own. Or at least not be forced into it because Scott wants their kids to be close enough in ages that they can hang out together like they used to when they were younger. 

Allison doesn't really care. She's just glad she can see her vagina again. Apparently, being pregnant sucks. Stiles wonders if it's the creating new life that's a bummer or if it's the part where your entire hunter family disowns you for getting knocked up by a werewolf. Whatever, Ally's a sweetheart and that mother and grandfather of hers have always creeped Stiles out. She's better off without them, in his opinion. 

And that's the other reason there are so many protesters clogging up the doorways, stopping anyone from coming in or out of the building - most of the volunteering omegas are human and all of the patients are werewolves. Interspecies mating is highly frowned upon and despite recent reforms, there are still humans calling for their marriage rights to be taken away. If that's not bad enough, hunting is still legal in some states. It's all pretty fucked up. 

"Okay, sign here," Melissa hands Stiles his forms and he scrawls his signature before handing them back. She rounds the desk with a thick blue folder and opens it up, leaning over to give Stiles a look. "This is your client. Give it a read, then we'll get you washed up and take you through to him. Remember, you've done this plenty of times before. This one won't be any different."

Stiles nods and takes the file, bidding goodbye to his friend and heads toward one of the back rooms for some privacy. 

 

"Turn," Brunski orders from where he's currently crouched, face to face with Stiles' junk.

Stiles knows that such a thorough cleaning is a necessity when dealing with a feral alpha - if Stiles goes in there smelling like something foreign or threatening or triggering for the wolf he'll be torn apart in seconds and that is something Stiles would like to avoid if possible - but that doesn't make the experience any less unpleasant. Maybe it's having his entire body scrubbed from head to toe including all the delicate parts in between or maybe it's just because it's _Brunski_ who's doing the scrubbing (that guy could give anyone bad touch vibes), either way, Stiles is lit up like a Christmas tree right now. 

He bites his lip, turns, and tries to think of his patient. 

The guy's name is Derek Hale, he's twenty-seven and was found by his pack two days ago, bloodied and out of his mind. They reported him missing three months previous when he had vanished from their pack house in the middle of the night seemingly without a trace. According to his file, his injuries were pretty severe but thanks to him being an alpha, he healed relatively quickly once proper medication was administered. He's currently unresponsive to his betas and all other attempted treatments have been unsuccessful.

Enter Stiles and his magical man milk. 

Once Brunski is done and probably thanking some brand of celestial being that Stiles doesn't need lubing up today, he shoves a familiar white robe into his arms and makes for the exit, bypassing doctor Deaton on his way out. Stiles takes petty satisfaction in knowing that that is Brunski's job. He lubes up buttholes for a living. It's kind of beautiful. 

"I trust everything is in order," Doctor Deaton smiles placidly, pulling on his pale cream latex gloves. 

Stiles claps his hands together and nods, "Good to go, doc."

The doctor steps forward and takes Stiles by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. Stiles blinks rapidly as a small light shines in his right eye for a few seconds before moving to the left. "You remember what to do if you need some assistance?" 

He's used to Deaton now, he sees him every time he comes in, but the guy's got to ask as part of the protocol. You know, so Stiles' dad can't sue or something if Stiles is eaten alive. It shouldn't come to that, though. It rarely does. Stiles reaches into the pocket of his robe and wraps his fist around the buzzer there. "I click the thingy," He grins wide and mock obediently. Deaton just shakes his head, a whisper of a smile there. 

Stiles stands patiently and allows Deaton to run various tests, checking his reflexes, minor things like that. It's routine now and honestly, he doesn't mind it all that much. There's something strangely nice about the clinical personal attention. It's not a turn on or anything, though he supposes it could be if his doctor were anyone else but Deaton. 

Although...

No, bad Stiles. Very bad Stiles. 

"All done," Deaton smiles and Stiles notices not for the first time that the man's features lack any real feeling. It's kind of weird. Not weird enough that Stiles stays up at night thinking about it, but weird enough that he's relieved when Deaton tells him he can go through to see the patient now. One day Stiles will find out exactly what mysterious secrets that man keeps locked up inside his head, but until then - on with the milking. 

 

The group of doctors and nurses that are dotted around the observation bay disperse on Deaton's command and Stiles is left alone, shivering in the sparse robe. Their absence is both worrying and reassuring; on the one hand, it doesn't sit too well with Stiles knowing that he'll have to wait more than a few seconds for help if things turn sour in there, on the other he's glad he won't have an audience during... proceedings. 

Stiles' fingers subconsciously move back to the buzzer in his pocket. There's a lid capped at the top that hides two tiny metal prongs that'll zap whoever it's jammed into. The tiny taser isn't quite enough to harm the alpha, but it should buy him a few valuable seconds if a set of something sharp tries to wrap itself around Stiles' very sensitive throat. 

Shaking his head - because he seriously can't go in there thinking like this - Stiles banishes the images of death by feral werewolf and heads toward the door. He grips the metal handle tightly and - taking one last deep breath - enters the patient's room. 

 

He doesn't see anything at first, bright amber eyes scanning the room as he tries to tamper down his building anxiety. He dampens his lips, defying his ever drying mouth and clears his throat, careful not to make the sound too harsh. "Hello?" He asks, taking a step in further. It's not likely he'll get a human response but Stiles finds he prefers to talk to the patients the way he would if they weren't currently out of their minds and high on animal instinct. There's a blanket in the corner, pulled away from the alpha's bed. The way the lumpy blanket is moving up and down is very telling as to what is hiding underneath it. 

Stiles doesn't approach - he's not stupid. 

Instead, he lowers himself down against the wall of which the door he just came through is situated. Sitting with his legs out in front of him and doing the best impression of a calm person that he can, Stiles takes his hand out of his pocket and tries again. "Derek?"

A low rumbling comes from the blanket and Stiles shivers. It's deep and dark and Stiles doesn't like it. Or more, Stiles' omega instincts don't like it. The alpha is warning him, telling him to get out of his den and run before his father is called in to identify him at the morgue. The logical side of his brain is telling him to hold out, stand his ground and help the poor bastard but the omega side is essentially pissing its pants. He wants to hightail it out of there as fast as his spindly legs can carry him but luckily that same omega nature that is begging him to flee is the very one that's about ninety percent sure to keep him alive. 

Derek is feral and a slave to his instincts - and an alpha's number one instinct is to protect his omega. If Stiles can play it right, Derek should find Stiles' presence comforting. That's the whole idea of this treatment. Stiles' maternal nature could - quite literally - nurse Derek back to health. It had worked before; there's no reason it won't work now. 

(Stiles decides to conveniently forget that the alphas he had worked with in the past had all been in their second or third weeks of treatment and had been almost completely rehabilitated by previous omegas.)

"I'm not here to hurt you, big guy," He lets a smile play into his voice and holds both of his hands out in a soothing gesture, despite the wolf being unable to see it. It's the thought that counts. "If you come out, I have something for you that'll help you feel better. C'mon Derek-" 

Another growl comes from the soft mound and Stiles has to take a slow breath out. 

"That's not a very nice way to treat an omega," He scolds, but there's nothing real in his voice. It's as weak as a kitten. "We're harmless, you kn-"

Stiles barely has the chance to see the mound move before he's being dragged from the wall by his ankle and pressed flat on the hard ground, pinned down painfully by two hundred pounds of pure muscular alpha. He'd had just enough time and consciousness to shove his hand into his pocket and wrap his trembling fingers around the taser, however, one of Derek's own hands, clawed and deadly, has his arm trapped and he can't move to use it for the life of him. There's still the option of pressing the button which will alert the doctors who will come running with tranquillizers, but for some reason, he hasn't pushed it yet. 

Derek's face is harsh, drawn forward Neanderthal style in his beta shift with eyes glowing red and teeth as sharp as daggers. Those teeth are terrifyingly close to Stiles' throat which is barely managing to hold back a whimper. Derek roars right in his face and it shakes Stiles right to his core. 

He's beyond scared and the familiar knot of panic is beginning to tangle tightly in his chest but he can't pussy out of this. He can't let everyone be right because he _can_ do this. Just because he's an omega, it doesn't mean he's fragile and delicate. Stiles' mother had been an omega and she'd been the fiercest woman he'd ever known. He wasn't afraid - he wouldn't be afraid and he _would_ help this poor fucker. Because that's what he'd signed up to do. 

And, most importantly, Scott and his dad would not be right about this. 

With new found determination, Stiles forces his body to relax despite the murderous alpha that is mere inches from tearing his throat out. "I'm sorry," he apologises gently, keeping eye contact with the man. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just want to help. That's why I'm here."

Derek is still staring Stiles down and if he survives 'til tomorrow he's going to have a beautiful collage of bruises decorating his skin. The growling has stopped, though. 

"I'm not going to hurt-" Threatening grumbling cuts Stiles off again and he watches as Derek's eyes slowly rake down his body to stare pointedly at his gown pocket. The pocket that contains the taser. Realisation dawns on the omega's features and his pink lips drop into a small o shape. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Stiles rotates and wriggles his wrist until the buzzer pops out of the fuzzy material and with one jerk the device is sent skidding across the floor with a gentle scraping noise. Derek, who had previously looked on the verge of attack, watches with an openly confused expression as the buzzer skits away until it quietly knocks against the wall to the left of the flattened pair. 

There's a possibility, Stiles thinks, that literally throwing away his only defence wasn't the best idea. He is in the process of considering that possibility when Derek pulls his gaze away from the buzzer and looks back down at Stiles. He's still frowning and looks positively furious, but Stiles thinks that might be the guy's default expression because there's also something a little confused about the emotions playing out on Derek's face. 

Taking the lapse in overt aggression as an opening, Stiles tries a kind and not at all wavering smile. "I'm Stiles. I volunteer here at the hospital." He'd tried something before with another alpha, Deucalion, not long ago that had worked pretty well and given he currently doesn't have much to work with, there's no harm in giving it another try. "I saw you haven't eaten since you got here and I thought, hey, you must be pretty hungry. So, y'know, if you want to..." Stiles trails off but nothing much is changing other than a strange sense of curiosity crossing the alpha's features. "Can I maybe have my arm back, big guy? That way I can show you what I mean."

To his surprise, Derek huffs through his nose, blowing warm breath into Stiles' face and complies, releasing his aching limb. The wolf is still watching him keenly, though, red eyes sharp so he can pounce if necessary. 

Slowly, the omega raises his arm and moves it up his body, keeping his gaze locked on Derek's until his fingers wrap around the edge of his robe. He pulls the garment away, revealing the pale, creamy plane of his chest and one pink puckered nipple. It's pretty obvious at this point what he is offering, even to a feral wolf, and all the man can do now is wait for Derek's reaction 

Derek, who has been watching with the same look of confusion that he had when Stiles threw the taser away, just huffs again. Stiles is about to be kinda offended when, thankfully, Derek lowers his head and begins to delicately sniff around his nipple. It tickles, the tiny breaths that are flurrying against his sensitive skin, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself laughing or something stupid like that. He's not used to this kind of attention. Usually, the alphas just latch on, no questions asked - not that Derek can verbally ask questions right now but you get the gist. Derek, however, appears to be taking his sweet time. 

The gentle sniffing ends with another sharp snorting huff and the wolf trails lower, snuffling down his stomach, getting a good whiff of his scent. Stiles wonders if he's judging Stiles' mood or whether he's trustworthy or something else. Either way, if he doesn't give it up soon, Stiles is definitely going to laugh because that shit tickles. 

Derek's scenting trails lower and _okay-_

"Woah, woah, woah," Stiles splutters, sliding away from the wolf now that he's free to move around. He crosses his legs and covers his dignity while his face glows bright red. "Let's just keep our noses out of there, yeah?" 

Derek makes a strange noise at the back of his throat and as Stiles looks over the alpha his eyes widen a fraction with contained internal screaming. "And that," Stiles points firmly towards Derek's huge fucking erection, "is not on today's menu."

Evidently, Stiles' protest fell on deaf ears and Derek, who Stiles is pretty sure hasn't understood a word he's just said, grabs Stiles by both ankles this time and drags him, legs spread and ass skidding along the floor until he's almost in Derek's lap. He's pretty sure he would have been had Derek not started to crawl over his body. 

Some omegas are down for this. In some cases, the alpha can't be fully rehabilitated with milk alone and it takes spending a heat with a _mate_  to bring them back. Stiles is not one of those omegas. For one, his father would literally end his life and for another, he seriously doubts that Derek - completely butt naked Derek - is carrying lube on him. And Stiles is getting the inside of his ass torn for no bitch. 

"Derek," Stiles begins, kindly but firmly. "No. We're not doing that." 

Derek whines and he takes another deep breath of Stiles scent, eyes falling shut from the euphoria that Stiles' fertility causes. It's a good thing; it's the whole point of this. The care of an omega is one of the few known treatments that can pull an alpha back from a feral state that isn't considered torture and the fact that Derek finds his scent so enthralling is a very good sign. That means that Derek will be less likely to eat him. And, y'know, will also be more susceptible to further treatment. It's a win/win. 

Shuddering, Derek shifts his hips away from between Stiles' legs which in itself is remarkable. Stiles isn't sure the wolf remembers his own name and yet he took his refusal for what it was, even when his base instincts are probably chanting that he belongs to him and is his to take. 

The snuffling resumes, this time at the crook of Stiles' neck which is as equally ticklish as his stomach and on a whim, the man raises his hands to gently take Derek's face. He gives a small starting push and Derek follows, allows his face to be lead down until he is hovering over Stiles' pink, pert nipple. 

Apparently, the alpha gets the gist because he grumbles low in his chest, but unlike his previous rumblings, Stiles doesn't feel any fear. In fact, he's almost unintentionally preening, so he takes it as praise instead of a threat. 

And then Derek is lowering his head and taking Stiles in his mouth. It's not a new sensation, he's done this before, but it still makes him tingle all over in a strange, nervous kind of way. Derek's mouth is hot and wet and kind of sloppy, like the wolf doesn't quite know what he's doing, just lapping and hoping for the best. Stiles doubts he's getting any milk at all so he threads his fingers through Derek's hair and whispers a quiet, "Easy. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

Stiles is pretty sure Derek begins to settle after that but he's really not sure. He's not sure about any of this. He's just kind of winging it and hoping for the best. There's a warmth in his breast which lets him know that Derek _is_ feeding now but he has no idea if it's benefiting him at all or how long it will take to see a difference in him. He's also not sure what the hell he's supposed to do with his time while a feral werewolf sucks on his nipple. 

The sharp nip of razor sharp teeth on sensitive skin snaps Stiles back to the present and he yelps, slapping at Derek's shoulder on instinct before he can think better of it. A bone-rattling growl emits from the alpha's muscular chest that makes Stiles submit, then Derek's tongue is lapping at the sore around Stiles' nipple, soothing it before he begins to suckle again. Stiles isn't sure how to feel about that. He basically just got the equivalent of a werewolfy telling off and even in his day to day life, he's never apologised for doing something wrong that quickly before. He once again finds himself relieved that there's no one else around to see that. 

Embarrassment aside, a tingling feeling of satisfaction prickles its way through his body and he can't help but feel a little proud of his achievement. He isn't dead, Derek is at least feeding and Scott and his father are both very, very wrong. Stiles is his own man and if he wants to feed a feral werewolf with his titty milk outside of marriage he'll damn well do it. It's kind of liberating, actually. 

Derek makes a displeased sound and what Stiles thinks might be a whimper. He looks down, pried from his inner monologue and finds the wolf staring sadly at Stiles' now bright pink and pretty abused nipple. He lifts his hand up and strokes the side of Derek's furry cheek. He takes satisfaction in the way that the wolf leans into his touch, letting his eyes flutter shut. "Don't worry, there's more," He assures and frees his second nipple with his spare hand, moving the fabric of his gown out of the way. Derek's nostrils twitch and he instantly moves to suckle again. 

He's better this time, more sure of himself. Stiles is pretty content that the two of them have got this thing locked down when a dribble of white runs down his breast and onto his scrawny chest. Derek releases the nipple and laps at the spillage, hot tongue marking its way up Stiles' frame, making him shiver in the process. His mouth goes dry. He has no doubt that he's letting off some serious  _fuck me_ pheromones and he's not exactly surprised. Feral or not, Derek is still attractive and his dick is very much out. Just hanging there, all big and dick like. Stiles is an omega, the way he feels his ass get wet with slick is a _natural response_. The file said so. 

(The fact that Stiles has never gotten wet from any of the other alphas is not relevant and does not matter.)

Stiles is bright red before Derek's eyes even manage to finish crawling all the way down his body. There's no way to hide that he's turned on and he thinks that he's probably giving Derek a lot of mixed signals right now, especially for someone who has no real concept of what Stiles is saying. He needs to think of some dead kittens pronto because not only is he telling Derek's alpha brain that he's DTF, he's also going to put Brunski out of a job with all this slick. 

Derek's eyelids are hooded and hazy and Stiles thinks that maybe it's time to go, to depart, to make his god damn exit because this is not the reaction he should be having to some harmless milking. Although to be honest, it's the fact that Derek's saliva is on his skin that's driving his instincts wild. Derek's marked him, unintentionally or not, and it's making Stiles' knobbly knees weak. He needs out so he can regroup and come back with a clear head and when his bones don't feel like jelly. Even though he's only been coming to the hospital for a hand full of months, he'd been planning on volunteering for much longer and his detailed treatment plan is not going out of the window because a hot werewolf licked his chest. That would be ridiculous. 

With that in mind, Stiles edges out from under the wolf and pushes himself up to stand. He fixes his robe and gives an awkward smile down at Derek who's crouched on the floor, blinking confusedly, probably wondering why the horny omega boy isn't spreading his legs like he so obviously wants to. Hell, if Stiles' human nose can detect a person's wants from their scent, Derek can probably mind read. He kind of hates himself.

"Hey, so," He rubs his hands on the white robe and bobs his head. "I'm gonna go but this has been good and I'll see you soon, okay?"

He waits for some kind of sign that Derek has understood what he's saying but gets nothing more that a frown in reply. Stiles sighs and, feeling guilty, leans down to place a gentle kiss on Derek's creased up grumpy brow. 

"I'll be back in a couple of days, promise."

 

When Stiles gets back into the reception he's met with Scott's worried face, very close to his face. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Do you need me to call your dad?"

Shaking his head, Stiles wraps a begrudging arm around his friend's waist to try and calm him. He doesn't want to be interrogated right now, not when all he can think about is finding somewhere to clean up the mess between his cheeks. Scott can most likely smell it and is mercifully not mentioning it. "Scotty, only ever call my dad if I've been dead for twenty-four hours.  _Exactly_ twenty-four hours. And I'm good, scouts honour."

Scott turns out of Stiles' grip and looks him in the eyes, his face a picture of worry. He's trying to detect a lie, Stiles can tell but he doesn't call him out on it. He can understand. From Scott's point of view, he's just done something terrifying and degrading. Stiles would be offended if Scott  _wasn't_ worried. 

Rolling his eyes fondly, Stiles pushes past his friend and links arms with him, dragging him out of the hospital and through the crowds of heckling, mindless humans toward his car. "New subject! How are the twins?"

Scott grins and launches into a speech about how his daughters are the cutest most perfect little babies the world has ever seen and Stiles knows his encounter with Derek will be off the table for a good hour at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com)


End file.
